“What are you going to do with the heroin?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Before we’re done, I’ll probably want to use it. For now it’s an asset, and we don’t have too many of those.”

“And this?” She pointed at the oilskin packet I’d taken off the dead man. “Another asset?”

“Could be,” I said. “Let’s see.”

The parcel was mostly wrapping. Bubble wrap under the oilskin, and cotton wool under that. And, huddled together within the cotton wool, three perfect carvings.

“Ivory,” Katya said.

They were indeed ivory, the rich cream color slightly yellowed with age. They stood just under four inches tall, each depicting an Oriental gentleman of a certain age. One held a bird on the back of his hand, one leaned on a cane, one had his hands clasped and his head bowed. Each was exquisitely detailed and impeccably executed.

“Good luck,” Katya said.

“Cheers,” I agreed absently. “What’s the significance of these, do you suppose?”

“But I am just telling you, Evan! This one is good luck, this one is long life, and the last is good health.”

“They’re good-luck charms?”

“Oh, how do you say it?” She switched to Russian. “They are not charms, like an amulet or a lucky ring. It is more that they are the personification of the three aspects of good fortune. It is a Chinese custom to have such carvings in one’s home, perhaps in a shrine devoted to one’s ancestors.” She picked up Long Life and turned him over in her hands. “But this is not Chinese.”

“How can you tell?”

“The facial features. The dress. See? He is wearing a longyi. No Chinese man would dress this way.”

“Maybe it’s a Chinese woman.”

“With a long flowing beard?”

“Maybe a Chinese drag queen,” I suggested. “A bad Chinese drag queen.”

“Evan-”

“Just a joke,” I said, and picked up Good Health for a closer look. “I see what you mean. Burmese, not Chinese.”

“But showing the Chinese influence. And very old, I think.”

“Valuable?”

“I would think so. There is a man I know, he has a stall at the large indoor market. Every few months I sell him a ruby.”

“Where do you get the rubies?”

“I did not tell you about the rubies? It seems to me we drank the ayet piu and I told you the story of my life.”

“Not all of it. You got as far as India, and the deputy governor-general of Goa.”

“The former deputy governor-general. I never told you of my marriage? I married an Indian gem trader based in Jaipur. He made frequent trips to Burma, and he always wanted me to go with him. Are you sure I didn’t tell you this?”

“I would remember.”

“I was always unwilling to go with him, because he was smuggling stones, and I was afraid he would get caught. And finally I said yes, and we stole into Burma illegally, and one day he gave me a packet of rubies to hold because he feared his partners would betray him and rob him. And then he disappeared, and days later I heard his body had been found floating in the Irriwaddy. His throat was cut.”

“Jesus,” I said.

“I had no papers, I had no money, I had no way to get out of Burma. I went to the Indian consulate and waited for hours to see an awful little man, and he listened and nodded and made notes, and I never heard from him again. When I went back he would not even see me. I went to other consulates and they laughed at me. Evan, I am a citizen of nowhere in the world! I have lived in so many countries but belong to none of them. I have no passport. How could I have a passport? I have no nationality. I feel myself more Russian than anything else, but my family fled Russia seventy years ago. They picked the wrong side and they left.”

“You know,” I said, “this is going to sound farfetched, but there’s a decent chance of a Romanov restoration in Russia. The country’s very unstable, and there seems to be a groundswell of monarchist sentiment.”

“You think it is truly possible?”

“I think anything’s possible,” I said. “As a matter of fact, I’m associated with people who are working hard to make it happen. Our candidate for tsar is a grand duke with first-rate credentials, and I think his popular support base is growing nicely. Oh, I wouldn’t rush out and put my money in tsarist bonds, not just yet. But I think we’ve got a chance.”

“And if your grand duke becomes the tsar? Then will I be able to get a Russian passport?”

“You could probably get more than that,” I said. “You’re probably in line for a title. Your grandfather was a count or something, wasn’t he?”

“My great-grandfather,” she said. “My grandfather was a general in the Kuomintang.”

“The point is you’re descended from the Russian nobility. You can’t expect a restoration of lands and privileges, but you might wind up with a title.”

“A title,” she said. “I would be happy with a passport and a plane ticket. Any sort of passport, and a ticket to any place but Burma. I can’t stay here much longer, Evan. I am down to my last ruby.”

“The ring?”

She nodded, and rubbed the tip of her forefinger against the dark red stone. “I had a little packet of them,” she said. “I know nothing about rubies. I was afraid a dealer would try to cheat me. And I knew the stones would be more valuable outside of Burma. In Amsterdam, say, or London or Paris. But even in India they would bring a higher price than here. That is why Nizam was able to make money buying rubies here and smuggling them back to Jaipur.”

“So you didn’t want to sell them all.”

“And get worthless kyat for them? No, of course not. I found a dealer who seemed to be honest, or at least more honest than the rest of them. And I sold him a stone and used the money to live on, and when it was gone I went back and sold him another stone. I thought the rubies would last forever, but nothing lasts forever. I have rent to pay and I have to feed myself, and I spend far too much money on bad whiskey. But I have nothing else, Evan, and so I buy ayet piu and drink it.”

“Isn’t there any kind of work you can do?”

“I tried giving English lessons. But so many Burmese speak English, especially the older people who remember when the British were here. And my English is not so good, anyway. There is no other work for me.” She fingered the ring. “The last ruby. I have money enough for a few more weeks, maybe a month. And then I sell the ring, and in a few months that money is gone. It is no good, Evan. I must get out of Burma.”

“It’s good the Englishman in Room 514 didn’t run off with your ring.”

“It is funny. I thought he might. And I almost hoped he would, because that would mean I would not have to sell it.” She held out her hand so I could look at the stone. “It was not in the packet,” she said. “Those were all unset stones. This was a gift, Nizam gave it to me. It is all I have left from my marriage.”

“Maybe you won’t have to sell it,” I said. “Speaking of selling, what do you suppose these are worth?”

“The carvings? I don’t know. They are Burmese, which makes them much rarer than the Chinese. And they are old, and very finely done. A few hundred each, certainly.”

“Dollars?”

“Of course. Perhaps much more than that. They could be valuable rarities, museum pieces, even. But you cannot take them out of Burma because they are antiques.”

“And you couldn’t bring them into the U.S.”

“Because they are old?”

“Because they are ivory. The importation of ivory is prohibited in order to discourage poachers from killing elephants.”

“But this elephant was killed hundreds of years ago.”

“The law doesn’t distinguish between old and new ivory.”

“And does it work? Does it stop the slaughter of elephants?”

“Maybe it slows it down a little. Anyway, we can’t take these guys out of Burma or into the United States. Maybe the best thing to do is sell them here. Except-”

“Yes?”

“Well, the man who got killed didn’t just stick these in his pocket. He had them taped to the small of his back. He went to a lot of trouble to safeguard them.”